Page 41 of Demo

They turned the corner and flew past the open gate to the club property. Demo saw Starbucks in the guardhouse and knew his brother was there to close and lock the gate once Pumpkin and Demo were through.

The drive down to the clubhouse was around three hundred feet. The former distillery had been popular enough to warrant the large parking lot area outside their main building before sales had started to decline. Demo had looked over the distillery’s books before the club had purchased the property, though not as carefully as he would have if the club had been planning on continuing in the distillery business. It had been more to appease his own curiosity than anything.

Partway up the drive, two of the club’s SUVs were placed nose-to-nose in a barricade formation. The headlights from his Bronco illuminated Steel, Bulldog, Lucky, Keys, Ghost, and Ranger. A look in his rearview showed Starbucks running down the drive after them. The bright lights surrounding the gate showed the shadow of the security arm blocking off entry to the club property.

Pumpkin slammed on the brakes. Demo leapt out of the passenger door, grabbing his jacket and cut. He donned both of them as he approached.

“Pumpkin said there’s no timer. Tell me you have a jammer,” he said to Keys. He only gave a chin lift of greeting to the others. There was no time for niceties.

“I do, but the range isn’t great. I also turned off the power source to the router.” He turned a tablet around towards Demo. It showed a couple of quickly shot pictures of an open duffel bag. Demo could make out at least four wires of different colors, what looked like a white plastic bucket, and plastic explosive of some sort. C4 wasn’t the only clay-like plastique on the market, but it was the one most widely known.

Unfortunately, the pictures on Keys’ tablet did not get him the details he needed. He was going to have to get closer.

He handed the tablet back to Keys. “I don’t suppose any of you grabbed my equipment bag from my room while you were fleeing for your lives?”

Pumpkin snorted. Steel did not look amused.

“No,” Ghost answered. Demo saw the ginger’s lips twitch at his dry humor. “Grumpy’s on his way with his tools.”

Now that Bulldog, Bear, Lucky, and Angel had built homes on club property, Grumpy, Jumper, and Pirate were the only ones who lived off property. Grumpy had a house outside of town while Jumper and Pirate shared a two-bedroom apartment with Jasmine in town. Demo had no idea if Jumper and Jazz had any plans for a house in their postnuptial future.

“He won’t get here in time,” Demo told them all. “Just because you don’t see a timer, doesn’t mean one isn’t there. Only Hollywood and amateurs put timers on the top or in plain sight. Statistically, they hide them so you don’t see it coming.”

Demo looked at the SUVs placed between them and the bomb. The men might not be demolition specialists like Demo, but they knew enough from their various military experiences to know to place anything large and sturdy between themselves and the blast zone. Without knowing the range of the bomb or the impact, there was no way for Demo to know if the SUVs would accomplish that task.

“I need pliers at the very least.” Demo reached into the inside of his jacket pocket. He kept a pocket knife there, but the worst time to learn it had fallen out would be when he was staring down at an active bomb.

Ranger opened the trunk of one of the SUVs and brought back a pair of needle nose pliers with bright yellow grips.

“Do we have any idea who—” Pumpkin started but Demo cut him off.

“Who put it there and why are later issues. Right now, we need to focus on disarming that bomb or detonating it somewhere safe.”

“You want to move it?” Keys’ eyes grew comically wide.

Demo shook his head. “I need to examine it first.”

“I’ll go with you,” Pumpkin said.

“No,” Steel snapped. “I will.”

“None of you are going with me and we don’t have time to argue,” Demo interjected. “I do not need amateurs in my blast zone. Stay here and hunker down. I’ll notify you once I know something.”

“You have no protective gear—” Lucky started, but Demo ignored him. He was very aware he was heading towards a bomb with no protection.

Demo tucked the pliers into his jeans pocket and started down the snow covered lane. Every step felt like he had cement in his boots. His heart was pounding in his head. It had been nearly nine years since he’d last faced off with a bomb, but his training took over like it was only yesterday. The objective was to identify and disarm.

He needed to block out everything else. His club brothers, his father, his club nieces and nephews, his woman and her adorable sons… He pushed it all to the back of his mind. Laser focused on the duffel bag in front of him, Demo continued forward.

The last bomb had taken three of his fingers. He would not allow this one to take anything from him—especially his life.

The bomb itself was crude.After checking for tripwires, Demo used his pocket knife to cut away the duffel bag to give him an unobstructed view of the bomb. Red, blue, green, and white wires twisted around the explosive material in an intricate braid. The grayish plastic explosive was molded to a white bucket with a sealed lid, blocking Demo from seeing if the wires continued inside the bucket. Since he didn’t see a power source outside the bucket, Demo could only assume they did.

Kneeling down in the snow covered driveway, Demo used Bones’ cage to help protect him from the winter winds. The bright security lights outside the clubhouse blocked out the darkness of the predawn morning.

Demo wore no gloves. They would only impede the use of his fingers. He needed to feel as much as he needed to see.

With a gentle slide of his pointer finger, Demo checked the rim under the lid for tripwires. Though his heart was beating fast, his hand was steady. The rim seemed clean, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something inside that would trigger when he lifted the lid.

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